This is how he looked when we first got him three months ago.

He had caught his left leg in his choker chain and it had grown into his armpit. Both the chain and his eye needed to be surgically removed. But, because the pound only does surgeries one day a week, he just sat in a small kennel for a week.

He adjusted to our home immediately, and even our dachshund (who is a royal bitch, seriously) decided he belonged here. Over the next few months we found out he had the worst case of whip worms imaginable (which lead to a major B12 deficiency) and some unknown illness which caused explosive, bloody diarrhea that I get to clean up two to three times a week. It is okay, it isn't his fault. He spent 40 of the past 90 days on metronidazole to try to combat whatever is keeping attacking his digestive system.

Whatever it is, it kills his appetite. I wake up 1 hour early every morning just to try to get him to eat something before I have to leave for work. And, all of our hard work has paid off. Arnold has grown form 27 to 43 lbs. He has more energy. He has been able to go with us to on excursions a few times. He loves dirt.

Arnold has heartworms. Heartworms kill. And Arnold's have succeeded. He just doesn't know it yet. Today is Arnold's last day. He is suffering congestive heart failure. All of his organs are shutting down. His bloating is getting worse. But he is still happy. Especially now. He got steak for dinner. And chicken liver. And he doesn't know it yet, but he also gets bacon for breakfast.